Opinion

The march to the slaughter had been filmed: it is not every day that 288 civilians, including 12 children, are massacred. The scene unfolded in the southern suburbs of Damascus, in the district known as Tadamun — and “by the book.” We are in 2013. More than 24 videos captured scenes of chilling horror, including the following: pro-government militiamen lead civilians, blindfolded and with their hands tied behind their backs, to the edge of a trench; they shove them in before opening fire indiscriminately to kill them. The bodies, we are told, were then burned and buried with a bulldozer to erase all traces. As the ultimate abomination, these “exploits” of the Assad dynasty were filmed in detail by the executioners themselves. By a twist of fate, this incriminating footage began circulating widely on social media from 2022 onward and became emblematic of the regime’s brutality. A piece of evidence showing one Amjad Youssef — the main star of this horror film — calmly dispensing death! Selective justice is not justice for all ! This low-ranking Syrian operative was arrested by Syrian authorities at the end of last April, and one can imagine the jubilation that swept through the victims’ relatives and the population at large upon hearing of his capture. Yet, when he appeared again on screen during a broadcast aired by the Syrian Ministry of the Interior, he delivered rather astonishing confessions: he took full responsibility and claimed to have acted alone, whereas everyone expected him to implicate his superiors in order to save himself. It then became clear to all that this was a forced confession intended to shield and exonerate certain figures of the fallen regime who had allegedly switched sides. The public began to wonder whether the current government had struck unspeakable deals with these renegades, whose names are already circulating discreetly. It was suggested that this was probably done for security reasons and to ensure stability and calm in certain regions of the country. But that was not all. Malicious tongues also insinuated that bribes had been paid to officials within the security apparatus (1). This led a researcher at the Conflict Studies Center of Utrecht University to remark: “We have moved from transitional justice to selective and cosmetic justice” (2). Indeed, a justice system that focuses on certain culprits rather than others cannot guarantee transparency. Acting on his own initiative? At the beginning of this month of May, another sinister figure — this time a general — was arrested: Khardal Dayoub had been implicated in the August 2013 chemical weapons attack on Eastern Ghouta. The operation left around 1,500 victims, including more than 400 children. Who could forget the sight of corpses with foam at their mouths? More than ever, accountability is essential: the Syrian people have the right to the truth. And let no one come onto national television to tell us that this general, in a moment of poor judgment, acted on his own initiative! Michael Safi & Melvyn Ingleby, “Syria arrests suspected leader of Tadamon massacre”, The Guardian, April 24, 2026. Melvyn Ingleby & William Christou, “Security or justice? Syria faces post-Assad reckoning after string of arrests”, The Guardian, May 4, 2026.

The file of Lebanese citizens exiled to Israel is among the most complex and sensitive in the Lebanese context, because it stands at the intersection of three deeply intertwined dimensions: the consequences of the Syrian and Israeli occupations, the legacy of the civil war, and the profound divisions surrounding the very concepts of the State, sovereignty, and justice. The State was absent from South Lebanon for decades, leaving the population at the mercy of the tensions between occupation forces and militia arms. When it returned after liberation, it came with a strict security and judicial logic, devoid of any genuine spirit of comprehensive national reconciliation. This is why the file has remained an open wound: Lebanon never underwent a true transitional justice process commensurate with the post-war era and the multiple occupations that had scarred it. On the human level, the tragedy endured by thousands of people and their families cannot be ignored. It manifests in: · Forcible uprooting from their natural environment. · A devastating separation from their families and villages. · A crisis of identity and belonging, and a life suspended between two countries. As for the children born or raised there, they experience a compound crisis: they never fully integrated into that society, while some in Lebanon, their own country, regard them with suspicion and hostility. Here the fundamental moral question arises: is it legitimate to extend legal and political responsibility to wives, children, and grandchildren? Entire families are paying today for choices that overwhelming circumstances imposed on some of their members, even though the vast majority among them never bore arms nor engaged in any security-related activity. To clarify the picture further, several established truths must be affirmed. 1. Authenticity of identity : These are genuine Lebanese citizens, not strangers or newcomers to this land. 2. The choice to live : They did not go to Israel by choice, but through forced exile. They were placed before two equally bitter alternatives — either face threats of physical elimination issued by their adversaries at the time (Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah: "we will slaughter you in your beds"), or endure a harsh exile far from their homeland and loved ones. They chose to stay alive. 3. The absence of the State : They did not conspire against the State; it was the State that abandoned them, leaving them as easy prey to the occupations and foreign tutelages. 4. The peaceful record : They were not implicated in the assassination of prime ministers, nor in the elimination of sovereigntist deputies, and they neither bombed mosques nor destroyed public infrastructure. Between Justice and Revenge The essential distinction lies in separating justice grounded in individual accountability from collective revenge and permanent ostracism. Justice demands that individual responsibilities be established with precision, that trials be conducted fairly, and that the principle of inheriting guilt across generations be firmly rejected. Political and Humanitarian Conclusion This file cannot be resolved through denunciatory sloganeering; it demands the approach of a "genuine State," one founded on recognition of the specificity of the occupation period and the oppressive circumstances that accompanied it, on a clear distinction between those who committed actual crimes and those who were victims of circumstances, on respect for an independent Lebanese judiciary and the rule of law, and on treating the humanitarian dimension of families and children outside any logic of vengeance and hatred. The file of those expelled to Israel cannot, and must not, be conflated with any other file, because the true adversary in this case is the Lebanese state itself, and not any other party. National and moral responsibility therefore falls first and foremost on the President of the Republic, in his capacity as head of State and the primary custodian of the country's security and integrity, as well as of the fate of all its citizens without exception. Those who once chose to confront Israel in defence of dignity and sovereignty cannot today prove incapable of finding a way to bring their children back from forced exile and restore them to their homeland under the aegis of law, justice, and national reconciliation. In the end, Lebanon's fundamental challenge remains the same: to accomplish the transition from the memory of war and division toward the space of a State capable of articulating justice and reconciliation, without ever sacrificing either sovereignty or the human dignity of its citizens.

In a moment of extreme regional complexity, Lebanon finds itself confronted with an existential question that goes far beyond the daily calculations of politics and the country's traditional fault lines: what does it seek to obtain from any eventual negotiations with Israel, what can it offer, and does it even possess, internally, the capacity to honour whatever commitments might emerge? These questions have long ceased to be theoretical. They are now directly bound up with the fate of the Lebanese state, with the prospect of hundreds of thousands of its citizens returning to their villages, and with the country's ability to emerge from its condition as an "open theatre of war" and accede at last to the rank of an ordinary state, sovereign over its borders and its decisions. The fundamental problem confronting Lebanon today lies not only in the war itself, or in the threat of war, but in the absence of a state capable of imposing a coherent national vision. For many years now, the country has lived under the yoke of a lethal duality: on one side, a formal state possessing its institutions, its constitution and its international legitimacy; on the other, a military and security reality endowed with an autonomous capacity to take sovereign decisions bearing on war and peace. It is precisely this duality that renders any future negotiation so thorny, for the international community does not merely ask what Lebanon wants — it also asks who actually holds the power of decision. In the context of serious negotiations, what would be required of Lebanon is not "gratuitous concessions," as some attempt to frame it, but a clear vision of a state determined to recover its sovereignty and its equilibrium. That begins with the affirmation of a fundamental principle: the exclusive monopoly over decisions of war and peace must rest in the hands of the Lebanese state alone. No state can negotiate in good faith when its security decisions are distributed between official institutions and parallel military forces. Any genuine negotiating process will therefore be inextricably linked to the question of arms outside the state framework — not merely because Israel or the international community raises this file, but because the emergence of a normal state in Lebanon has become impossible without addressing this structural dysfunction. This is where the great dilemma reveals itself. Can the Lebanese army, on its own, resolve this equation? The realistic answer is that the question far exceeds any purely military capacity. The arms file in Lebanon is not a simple security matter capable of being settled by a field decision or an internal confrontation; it is entangled with confessional balances, regional conflicts, the relationship between Hezbollah and Iran, and the open conflict with Israel. Any attempt to impose a solution through internal force risks propelling the country toward a comprehensive explosion threatening the army's own unity and reproducing scenes of civil war whose scars the Lebanese have not ceased to carry. This is not to say the Lebanese army has no role — quite the contrary. The military institution remains the sole national entity capable of serving as guarantor of stability, provided it is given the requisite political umbrella and the necessary capabilities. But it cannot be converted into an instrument of internal confrontation without a unifying political decision and sufficiently broad domestic support. Any serious approach to the arms file therefore requires a progressive national strategy: one that begins by strengthening the state itself, building up the army's capacities, and subordinating any security transition to a wide internal consensus and a broader regional settlement. For reality compels the acknowledgement that the power of Hezbollah derives not only from within Lebanon, but from its membership of a regional axis led by Iran. Any radical change in this file will consequently be conditioned by the future of Iranian-Israeli relations and the nature of the international arrangements taking shape across the region. Reducing the question to the slogan of "disarmament by force" is therefore unrealistic — just as the perpetuation of the status quo is no longer viable for the Lebanese state. There is, moreover, a file of at least equal urgency — perhaps the most pressing for the Lebanese today: that of the South, the displaced, and the ravaged villages. Thousands of Lebanese families are living a continuous uprooting, the consequence of war and border tensions. The question that imposes itself with force is this: can Lebanon, in the framework of any eventual negotiations, extract from Israel guarantees of withdrawal and the return of the displaced? Theoretically, yes. It is legitimate for Lebanon to demand a cessation of military operations, an Israeli withdrawal from any point it occupies, and the safe return of inhabitants to their villages. But the historical experience of the region has amply demonstrated that "promises" alone are insufficient. The Middle East is strewn with fragile agreements and arrangements that have collapsed at the first shift on the ground or in the political landscape. Real guarantees require far more than political declarations or verbal understandings. Should Lebanon engage in a negotiating process, it will need an explicit, written agreement incorporating precise timetables and mechanisms for monitoring and implementation. It will need genuine international sponsorship and guarantees from actors capable of exerting real pressure — the United States, France and the United Nations. The strengthening of UNIFIL's role, or of any other international monitoring mechanism, will be equally indispensable to ensure mutual compliance with a ceasefire and to prevent the rapid collapse of any agreement. But even if security guarantees were to materialise, another battle no less decisive would present itself: reconstruction. Returning does not mean simply reopening the road to the village; it means rebuilding homes, infrastructure, schools, hospitals, and securing the minimum conditions of a normal life. Any serious negotiation must therefore imperatively link the security dimension to a plan of economic support and reconstruction for South Lebanon — failing which, any return would remain illusory and precarious. The difficulty in Lebanon is that a large part of the internal debate is conducted with a mentality of absolute slogans. Some regard any negotiation as capitulation; others imagine that a solution will come through a swift internal confrontation settling everything at once. The reality is infinitely more complex. Lebanon is not, today, in a position to afford great adventures — military or political. The country is in the throes of economic collapse, its institutions are exhausted, and Lebanese society itself is divided, frightened and worn down after years of accumulated crises. Any realistic approach must therefore set out from a fundamental objective: the reconstruction of the Lebanese state itself. The real problem lies not only in the existence of an Israeli threat or an Iranian influence, but in the weakness of the state, which allowed Lebanon to be transformed into an open space for regional conflicts. When the state is failing, all external settlements are temporary and all truces are destined to implode. The greatest challenge facing Lebanon is therefore not simply how to negotiate with Israel, but first how to recover its national decision-making capacity. For the real negotiation does not begin around a table; it begins when the state exercises genuine authority over its territory, its borders and its institutions. Only then can any agreement transform itself from a fragile truce into a lasting stability. Lebanon has no use for slogans of illusory victory, nor for discourses of surrender. What it truly needs is a state project: a state that protects its borders through its army, that prevents its territory from being converted into a platform for others' wars, and that guarantees its people the natural right to security, stability and life. All future negotiations must be measured against this single criterion alone: do they bring Lebanon closer to statehood, or do they return it to the logic of arenas of confrontation, regional axes and endless wars?

Since the emergence of the Arab-Israeli conflict, Lebanon has strenuously sought to shield itself from falling entirely into the furnace of open-ended wars, adopting a policy built on two pillars: to be the last Arab State to sign a peace agreement with Israel, and to remain a “supporting State” for the Palestinian cause rather than a “frontline state” bearing the burden of war alone. This approach stemmed from Lebanon’s singular nature — its delicate balances and its political and social composition, which could not absorb protracted conflicts exceeding its capacities and resources. Yet this equilibrium began to shift gradually with the rise of armed Palestinian fedayeen action, as vast areas of South Lebanon transformed into what became known as “Fatahland,” under the aegis of Islamic and leftist forces. Lebanon entered then a new phase of division, particularly as the Assad regime exploited this reality and channelled it to serve its regional projects, turning the country into an open stage for wars and external settlements. Over the years, names and faces changed while the tableau remained the same; the Palestinian organizations departed, replaced by Iranian influence exercised through Hezbollah, and the Syrian role receded in favour of Tehran, which seized control of both political and military decision-making. The fundamental difference, however, lies in the nature of the bond between Iran and the Hezb: it was no longer a mere alliance of interests, but had become a deep doctrinal and organic attachment, making the decoupling of Lebanese decision-making from the Iranian project an extraordinarily complex undertaking. The region is witnessing today major transformations that are redrawing its balances; with President Donald Trump’s return to the White House, the international equations have shifted. Domestically, the election of General Joseph Aoun as President of the Republic and the designation of Dr. Nawaf Salam to form the government have kindled hope for the restoration of State sovereignty after years of collapse and armed hegemony. It is from this context that the project of dialogue with Israel was placed on the table, after Tehran had shut the doors to any solution and pushed the country to the brink of total implosion. It has become clear that the perpetuation of the status quo would mean Lebanon’s definitive and devastating isolation; accordingly, the new authority holds that salvation lies in consolidating State power, concentrating the decision over war and peace in the hands of legitimate institutions, and withdrawing the country from the game of regional axes. This orientation, however, confronts internal obstacles; relations between Speaker of Parliament Nabih Berri and the presidency are traversed by growing tension, with Ain al-Tineh sensing that the negotiating process is bypassing traditional understandings. The Hezbollah’s position appears still more complex since its sovereign decision-making power migrated to the Iranian Revolutionary Guards, which binds any internal dialogue to Tehran’s calculations and its negotiations with Washington. Lebanon’s new authority today affirms its refusal to hitch the country’s future to the train of Iranian-American negotiation, convinced that Lebanon cannot continue to serve as an external “pressure card.” In what could lay the foundation for a new political trajectory, a meeting between Lebanese and Israeli delegations is expected in Washington, constituting a serious attempt to reclaim the status of a “normal State.” Lebanon stands today at a historic crossroads: either a return to the logic of the State, sovereignty, and institutions, or continued captivity to arms and external axes that have bequeathed nothing to the Lebanese but destruction and collapse. Will Lebanon break the shackles of the “arena” to enter the era of the “State”?

A gallows had been erected by protesters in front of the Palace of Justice in Damascus. It was Sunday, April 27th, in the Syrian capital: a large crowd was present at the first hearing of trials intended to determine the fate of criminals from Bashar al-Assad's fallen regime. The protesters were crying for revenge: they would not have hesitated to carry out their own justice! This speaks to the overheated general atmosphere that could cast doubt on the course of future developments. A special tribunal for Syria, modeled on the one established for former Yugoslavia, would have raised fewer concerns. None of this bodes well for the Alawite community that held the reins of power for over 50 years and is blamed for the repression that wreaked havoc on the population. Current Situation It was therefore to be expected that the current Syrian judicial system would reflect the state of a country still healing the wounds of civil war. This war remains omnipresent in the minds of survivors, and its events will continue to haunt individuals and various groups for a long time to come. Another factor that also works against fairness and reconciliation: Syrian justice, taken as a whole, had not been truly 'independent' since the Baath party came to power. In fact, since the 1960s, judges were under the thumb of the regime—and that says it all! Five decades of subjection to the regime of Hafez and Bashar al-Assad would not generate a class of judges with integrity, professionally qualified to judge, and fiercely independent. To this we must add, as one observer notes, that the judicial machinery has been constituted at this precise moment around a 'heterogeneous constellation of mechanisms: unprecedented national transitional justice processes, local truth-seeking initiatives that are often informal, both reactive and fragile, promises of future trials, as well as an unprecedented diversification of international judicial activity'. A Two-Tiered Justice System Indeed, it must not be forgotten that trials of the fallen regime's criminals had begun in Europe before the first hearing took place in Damascus last month. Under the principle of 'universal jurisdiction,' certain European countries were able to prosecute crimes that were not committed on their territories. While France issued arrest warrants against Bashar al-Assad, his brother Maher, and others, German courts in Koblenz, Stuttgart, and Frankfurt did not hesitate to condemn Syrian officials to prison sentences, two of them to life imprisonment. Lucky men, these fugitives who had appeared before European justice: they did not risk the death penalty and their detention conditions remained far more acceptable than those prevailing in the prisons of Damascus. An Eye for an Eye? All the more reason to fear the application of the law of retaliation in what should now be called the 'Damascus Trials'—trials that will detail the horrors of the overthrown regime. The next hearing will be held on May 10th: it will rule on the fate of Major General Atef Najib, cousin of President Bashar al-Assad and former head of political security in Deraa, the birthplace of the 2011 uprising. So, how can one ensure serenity in the courtrooms when the crimes of this torturer of children are revealed in detail? And to what extent will Ahmad al-Shara's government be able to contain the groundswell of demands coming from Aleppo, Homs, and Hama for immediate executions on Marjeh Square?* *This same square where Arab nationalists were hanged in 1916 and the spy Eli Cohen in 1965.

The disease afflicting the country is not solely the Hezbollah militia, although it constitutes the most significant challenge, nor is it other militias, armed groups in the Palestinian camps, the absence of sovereignty, or the perpetual corruption dating back to the Mutasarrifate (1862-1915). This disease, which is the erosion of the culture of the state and of the sovereign state, has infected and proliferated mentalities since the Syrian Ba'athist occupation. It was exacerbated later and became cancerous under Hezbollah's hegemony. For 21 years, Hezbollah, at every level of its hierarchy and wherever it is present within institutions, has relentlessly worked to shape mentalities and render them subservient, using these institutions as a socio-political and security shield for its own benefit. The state and its institutions are thus disfigured, and any official who does not adopt the rhetoric of "resistance" is labeled a traitor and a Zionist agent. Likewise, friendly countries where hundreds of thousands of Lebanese, naturalized or not, reside must be labeled enemies, and their representatives avoided or boycotted under threat of accusations of collusion with imperialism. According to this widespread culture, Lebanon should isolate itself from the Arab and Western worlds. For those who do not admire Hezbollah, Stockholm Syndrome takes hold and becomes commonplace. Faced with this, the champions of fait accompli can find nothing better to do than play the insipid game of "pragmatism." Conversely, the wave of drastic opposition to the armed group blames the "deep state" for our situation. This is by definition classically business-oriented, whereas in reality what we are suffering from is the "shell state," or the "Hezbollah mask state." Therefore, blaming what is happening on the "deep state" is simplistic. Furthermore, absolving the highest levels of the state hierarchy, and those in the intermediate positions between this hierarchy and the deep abysses, of responsibility is wrong. The culture of the state, envisioned by the founding fathers of modern Lebanon a century ago, was gradually established by an elitist class, first under the French Mandate, then under successive presidents and governments until 1975. This can indeed be seen by rereading the newspapers of the time and recalling what daily life was like before the war. Certainly, in those periods, there was a state and institutions that functioned despite their shortcomings, weaknesses, and flaws. These issues took on their true dimensions during the first four presidential terms after independence, but this period was insufficient to achieve the necessary socio-political maturity among all citizens, especially after four centuries of sectarian culture under the Ottoman Empire's "millet" regime. Since 1975, the Lebanese have yearned for a sovereign state governed by the rule of law, and they continue to seek it, but a large majority no longer understand what it is. State institutions, instead of serving the citizens, have become instruments of power, hegemony, and enrichment. Many find this routine and live "normally" with it. Moreover, the state's collusion with the pro-Iranian militia has become an obligation in the eyes of Hezbollah supporters, and commonplace for everyone else. To turn the tide and set things right, what is needed are true statesmen, not just representatives of religious groups, who often come from populist circles. Religious diversity is a reality, but its management cannot be left to mediocrities. Elites within each religious group or party are essential in these circumstances. The Speaker of our parliament is not a true leader in the classical sense. He wields veto power over the executive branch and hegemony over the administration of the state to facilitate the affairs of his cronies and supporters. He manages parliament much more like a "Loya Jirga," or tribal council, and much less like a team that legislates and discusses visions and action plans in the face of strategic challenges. The proof lies in the parliament's resounding absence regarding the Hezbollah-Israel war since 2023. The Prime Minister, for his part, is almost entirely detached from security and military decisions. Our government, despite its qualified ministers, hardly resembles a working team that collectively identifies problems and develops solutions. A clear foreign policy is nowhere to be seen, nor is a strategy for negotiations with Israel, which are rejected by a segment of the executive and legislative branches. The president of the republic makes numerous pronouncements but fails to play the role of constitutional conductor. The attacks and defamation he endures are not countered by institutional measures. Furthermore, politicians, clan and militia leaders, and media outlets vie for airtime and column space to declare their support for or opposition to negotiations with Israel, but this remains merely a matter of taking positions. Complaints against the "shell state" are justified but insufficient. What is lacking is action from statesmen. The countries of the region, whether friends, enemies, or adversaries, are working tirelessly to safeguard the interests of their people and emerge from the regional crisis with minimal damage. If things continue to be managed in this way, solutions will be imposed from the outside; otherwise, we will be condemned to simply manage day-to-day affairs. Finally, what has been said about the rule of law and the sovereign state may be utopian, but if we do not aim very high, we risk not only going nowhere, but sliding very low.

Hezbollah, which for years made the entire country tremble with its weapons, its men and its threats, has now been reduced to smearing Maronite Patriarch Béchara Rahi through armies of anonymous accounts, false bravado and insults typed from behind a screen. Even the way they fall has become small. Why this rage? Because the Patriarch simply reminded them of something that has become unbearable: Lebanon belongs to the Lebanese. A simple sentence. A normal sentence. And yet they can no longer silence it. So they strike at thin air, like someone who feels the ground slipping beneath their feet. This is not a sign of strength. It is precisely the opposite. Movements that are sure of themselves do not need to send anonymous individuals to attack a man of the Church. When arguments are replaced by mud, it is because, deep down, one already knows that part of the battle is lost. There comes a moment in the life of organizations when they begin to understand that the fear they inspired is starting to fade. And when fear departs, very little is left. That is when the nervous reactions set in, the insults, the excesses, the pointless blows. Like a cornered scorpion that stings one last time, not because it still dominates, but because it no longer knows how to die any other way. In the history of Lebanon, when a movement begins attacking a religious authority with hysteria, it is often a sign that it has exhausted its other recourse. The political argument no longer convinces. The military argument no longer suffices. What remains, then, is the mud. But mud thrown at a patriarch does not soil the one it targets. It reveals, above all, the one who throws it. What is happening today goes far beyond a polemic against Patriarch Raï. It is the spectacle of a system that senses the times are shifting around it. And a system that senses its end often becomes aggressive, chaotic and loud. The hardest thing for them is this very precise moment when fear changes sides. A dead man does not know he is dead. But a dying one does.

There were trials in Nuremberg (1945–46) and in Tokyo (1946–48), and even in Istanbul, gallows were erected in July 1919 to execute Young Turks responsible for the Armenian genocide. That said, one could legitimately wonder why the authorities of Ahmed al-Chareh had been so slow to set the judicial machinery in motion. Was he hesitant to punish the abuses committed against an entire people by the Al-Assad dynasty of tyrants and their inner circles? The question was all the more pressing given that more than twenty officials—both top figures and lesser ones, if you’ll pardon the expression—had been arrested and were languishing in prison awaiting trial. Then, on April 26, the first public hearing opened in Damascus with this statement from Judge Fakhr al-Din al-Aryane: “Today, we begin the first trials under transitional justice in Syria.” A brief comparison Who would not wish for our neighbor Syria to hold public trials that, by condemning the criminals of the Baathist regime, would deliver not vengeance but justice? And for that, should it not avoid taking the Iraqi or Lebanese models as examples? Let us recall that in Iraq, in 2006, what took place was a sham trial—the notorious kangaroo trial of Saddam Hussein. He was executed hastily after his conviction in the Dujail case, before the trial concerning the 1988 Halabja affair—where chemical weapons were used against civilians—had been completed. As a result, the Kurds, like many relatives of the victims, were deprived of a sound administration of justice, which might have eased their profound sense of injustice: a proper trial can help in the process of mourning. As for Lebanon, an exceptional country that endured fifteen years of simmering civil war and foreign occupations, the approach was even more expeditious and far more terse: the 1991 amnesty law wiped away the horrors committed with a single stroke of the pen*. Waiting for Bashar, Maher, and the others Should we believe things will be different in Syria? In any case, Syrian courts do not rest on Sundays, since it was on such a day that the first hearing of a process destined to expose the horrors of the fallen regime was held in Damascus. Two notable figures, however, were absent: the deposed president Bashar al-Assad and his brother Maher. They had vanished, like so many other perpetrators who now live comfortably—whether in Russia, Lebanon, Iraq, Iran, or even, we are told, in Germany, Sweden, and Belgium. The criminals of the regime who will escape justice in their own country number in the thousands. “Fall guys” will pay in place of those who planned and ordered massacres and systematic torture—the hallmark of the Syrian prison system. Transitional justice and the rule of law? Trials are necessary, if only for their cathartic effect—but not as acts of revenge dictated by the law of retaliation. The “transitional justice” emphasized by Judge al-Aryane must not take the form of settling scores; it must establish the truth, compensate victims, and pave the way for national reconciliation. But is this anything more than wishful thinking? In our youth, our teachers warned us against illusions and idealism. For, like charity, justice in practice can only ever be “partial and biased.” *Some crimes, such as those committed against political, religious, or diplomatic figures, were not, however, covered by the amnesty law.

When Israeli officials threaten to treat southern Lebanon like Gaza, the statement is not only reckless but politically revealing, exposing the extent to which regional escalation has become entangled with domestic calculations inside Israel while simultaneously reflecting Lebanon’s own structural paralysis. Such rhetoric should be dismissed for what it is—electoral posturing dressed as strategic doctrine—yet it cannot be separated from a far more consequential reality: Lebanon has once again been dragged into a war it did not choose, by an actor that does not answer to the state and does not bear the costs of its decisions in any accountable way. There is no meaningful comparison between Gaza and southern Lebanon, not because the scale of destruction differs, but because the political architecture underpinning each case is fundamentally distinct. Gaza is governed by an authority that openly claims ownership of its military posture, whereas Lebanon remains trapped in a dangerous inversion where the state carries the burden of war without exercising sovereign control over the instruments that produce it. The ongoing confrontation along the southern border is therefore not simply a bilateral conflict between Israel and Hezbollah, but rather the manifestation of a deeper crisis in Lebanese governance, where the absence of a unified decision-making authority has turned the country into an arena rather than an actor. Israel’s military conduct in the south, particularly its systematic targeting of infrastructure and tunnel networks, is often framed as a security necessity, yet in practice it resembles the forcible implementation of international resolutions through overwhelming firepower. The persistent reference to United Nations Security Council Resolution 1701 is not incidental; it underscores the extent to which Israel now claims to be enforcing, by unilateral means, obligations that the Lebanese state has failed or refused to implement. This dynamic not only erodes Lebanon’s already fragile sovereignty, but also places the state in the untenable position of being simultaneously judged and bypassed by external actors who no longer distinguish between state institutions and the armed group that operates alongside them. What makes this moment particularly perilous is the widening gap between official narratives and lived realities on the ground. The Lebanese military has repeatedly signaled compliance with the framework that was meant to demilitarize the area south of the Litani River, yet ongoing developments suggest either a failure of enforcement or a lack of political will to confront violations. This ambiguity has created a vacuum in which competing claims proliferate, allowing Israel to justify continued operations while enabling Hezbollah to sustain its own narrative of deterrence and resistance. In such an environment, truth becomes secondary to utility, and facts are selectively mobilized to serve pre-existing agendas rather than to inform policy. The consequences of this dissonance are not confined to the battlefield; they extend into the social and political fabric of Lebanon itself. Displacement from the south has exposed the extent of infrastructural collapse and the impossibility of sustaining civilian life under current conditions, while the repeated evacuation of residents—often at the urging of the very actors who claim to defend them—reveals a troubling pattern in which populations are treated as expendable variables in a broader strategic calculus. The humanitarian dimension of this conflict, though frequently invoked, remains subordinated to the imperatives of maintaining a theater of confrontation that serves interests beyond Lebanon’s borders. At the heart of this crisis lies a more uncomfortable truth, one that Lebanese officials have been reluctant to articulate with clarity: the erosion of sovereignty is no longer an abstract concern but a lived condition, shaped by the entrenchment of non-state military power and its integration into a regional axis led by Iran. The presence of decision-makers who operate outside the framework of Lebanese accountability mechanisms, and whose priorities are aligned with external strategic objectives, has effectively transformed parts of the country into extensions of a broader geopolitical contest. This reality complicates any attempt to negotiate a ceasefire or de-escalation, as it raises the fundamental question of who, exactly, has the authority to commit Lebanon to peace. It is within this context that the debate over negotiations must be understood. The insistence by some that engaging in talks constitutes betrayal reflects a political culture that has long conflated diplomacy with weakness and valorized perpetual confrontation as a marker of national dignity. Yet the alternative—continuing a war without a clear objective, without state consent, and without a viable path to resolution—offers little more than the promise of further destruction. Negotiations, in this sense, are not a concession but a necessity, provided they are anchored in a coherent vision of state authority and backed by a willingness to address the root cause of the current impasse: the existence of an armed entity operating independently of national command. International and regional actors, particularly those in the Arab Gulf, have made their position increasingly explicit. Financial assistance and reconstruction support will not flow into a system perceived as subordinated to militia control, nor will political backing be extended to a state that cannot assert its own primacy in matters of war and peace. This conditionality, often criticized as external pressure, is in fact a reflection of a broader consensus that stability cannot be built on ambiguity, and that sovereignty cannot be selectively applied. Lebanon now stands at a crossroads that it has approached many times before but never fully confronted. The choice is not between war and peace in the conventional sense, but between continuing to exist as a fragmented arena for competing powers or reconstituting itself as a state capable of making—and enforcing—its own decisions. As long as the monopoly over violence remains contested, every ceasefire will be temporary, every reconstruction effort provisional, and every claim to sovereignty incomplete. The path forward is neither easy nor immediate, but it begins with a simple, often avoided acknowledgment: a country that does not control its weapons cannot control its future.

Lebanon did not collapse because of a flaw in the numbers, but because meanings and values fell apart. Suddenly, the money stolen from ordinary people was no longer called theft, but a “financial gap.” There were no longer any responsible parties, only “losses.” And there were no longer any victims, only “depositors” who were being asked to understand the circumstances and share in bearing the cost. This is not merely a matter of language. It is the very heart of the battle. When a crime is reduced to an accounting term, the debate becomes technical rather than ethical and legal. The issue is removed from the arena of justice and transferred to that of management, shifting from “who stole?” to “how do we distribute the loss?” And here begins the great slide: the victims gradually transform from rights holders into actors in the solution, rather than bearers of rights. What happened in Lebanon was not a passing financial storm. It was the result of a conspiracy orchestrated by an entire system: a state that borrowed without limit, a central bank that engineered illusions, and banks that accumulated extraordinary profits before slamming their doors in the faces of their depositors. And yet, the solutions being proposed today start from the pockets of ordinary people, not from the sources of the dysfunction. Plans are presented under “realistic” or “escue” headings, while in essence they amount to nothing more than a redistribution of losses, rather than a treatment of their causes. Depositors are being asked to accept the write-off of a portion of their assets, or their conversion into shares in entities whose value remains undefined. Even the proposals that appear less harsh — such as the idea of a sovereign fund into which state assets would be placed — are not without danger, not because of the concept itself, but because of those who would manage it. That is why this idea remains ambiguous and perilous as long as it is not tied to a basic condition: who guarantees transparency, and who is held accountable? The fundamental contradiction is that whoever calls for transparency and judicial reform is simultaneously proposing to hand state assets over to a system that has so far demonstrated no capacity for transparency or accountability. For my part, the problem lies not only in the solutions themselves, but in the ordering of priorities: do we begin with accountability, or do we leap over it? How can one speak of “governance” and “sound management” of state assets in a country that has yet to succeed in conducting a single serious audit, or in holding any actual official accountable for the collapse? How can one trust that what was not preserved in the banks will be preserved in a fund? Is this not simply a transfer of losses from the balance sheets of banks to the body of the state itself — that is, to society as a whole? More dangerous still is the leap over a fundamental principle: no lasting solution can be built on a foundation that ignores responsibilities. At that point the debate is no longer merely economic; it is also legal. For Lebanon is not outside the world, and it is bound by international anti-corruption conventions, including UNCAC, which unequivocally places the recovery of looted assets and accountability at the heart of any reform process. If there has been corruption, it is not enough to manage its consequences; it must be exposed, those responsible must be held accountable, and the stolen funds must be recovered. States are obligated to pursue the recovery of assets that have been stolen or transferred by illicit means, and it is not possible to bypass the determination of responsibilities: who made the decisions? who benefited? who provided cover? What is required is transparency: any reform must pass through genuine auditing, an independent judiciary, and clarity in the figures. I am not a financial expert, but I know that there is a difference between treating losses and treating their causes. In other words: before people are asked to absorb the losses, a serious effort must be made to recover what was transferred or benefited from through illegal means. And before restructuring the banking system, those who abused it must be identified. But perhaps the most dangerous thing is not the substance of these proposals, but their timing. At a moment of war, existential anxiety and crucial negotiations open onto long-term contingencies, the depositors’ file is being reopened. Not because the timing is right, but because it may suit those who wish to push through what would not survive a broader public debate. In moments of widespread distraction, the capacity for resistance weakens, discussions are cut short, and what was once unacceptable becomes passable under the banner of “necessity.” Existential questions require collective awareness, not collective exhaustion. They require open debate, not the pressure of time and fear. For solutions imposed in moments of weakness are rarely just. This does not mean the file can be postponed indefinitely. But there is a great difference between raising a fundamental issue within the framework of an open national debate and slipping it into the crush of fear and fatigue, where citizens are transformed from engaged participants into passive recipients. Major questions do not require only solutions, but equitable conditions under which to be raised. They need collective awareness, not collective exhaustion. For otherwise, any solution — however technical or balanced it may appear — will carry within it the distortion of the moment that gave it birth. The problem does not lie in the search for solutions, but in the nature of those solutions and in the ordering of priorities. When any plan begins by erasing rights rather than securing them, and by protecting the system rather than calling it to account, it does not address the crisis: it reproduces it in another form. What is being demanded today is not a financial miracle, but a minimum of justice. That things be called by their proper names. That responsibilities be determined. That a genuine attempt be made to recover the funds. Otherwise, we will be faced with a familiar spectacle: New language, new terminology, a new formula… but the same result. Not a “gap,” but a plain story: funds that were stolen, and a system attempting to convince their rightful owners to accept the loss as fate.